Calming Fire
by Gatekat
Summary: Bayverse. Jazz/Prime, Inferno/Rrd Alert. Jazz convinces his Prime that he needs a Chief of Security to protect him from mechs like himself.
1. Point Taken

**Fandom**: Transformers Bayverse  
**Author**: gatekat and femme4jack on LJ  
**Pairing**: Jazz/Optimus Prime  
**Rating**: NC-17 for mech/mech  
**Codes**: Slash, Kinky, Sticky, PnP, Tactile  
**Summary**: Jazz convinces his Prime that he needs a Chief of Security to protect him from mechs like himself.  
**Notes**: Written for (community .livejournal .com/redxinferno)'s February challenge: Beginnings (community .livejournal .com/redxinferno/39491 .html). We didn't include this, the first chapter we wrote, in the challenge entry for obvious reasons (Jazz and Prime were angling for a story of their own)  
Props to Borath for the cleansing merges idea.  
~text~ spark or cable talk  
::text:: comm chatter

* * *

****

Calming Fire Prequel: Point Taken

* * *

Optimus Prime onlined only to find himself in a situation he had long dreaded. His motor control was down, comms were disabled, and an energon blade was poised above his spark.

"Hello Jazz," he said quietly to the small silver mech who was straddling his waist.

"Hey Prime," the mech grinned down, his expression utterly at odds with the situation. "Believe us now?"

"I'm still not happy about the proposed solution, but I will admit you are correct. Is Ironhide's team disabled, or is he unaware that you are here?"

Prime allowed his optics to travel the length the SpecOps second in command, admiring the reflection of the illegal weapon on the polished silver armor before looking into the glowing purple visor.

"A bit 'o both," he chuckled, never moving the blade. "Th' Twins are out cold, Jackknife is stuck in that shielded storage locker that doesn't open from the inside, the rest are suitably clueless. Though I didn't _need_ to take any of them down, and I could have easily taken them all, among others. Somehow I don't think anyone but me is all that keen on my boss becoming _everybody's_ boss."

"I'm sure Hide will show suitable appreciation for your restraint, and the fact that you have shown the weaknesses in his arrangements," Prime said dryly, continuing to glance at the visor above him rather than the blade that could take him out at any moment. "How come you didn't do this when you were with the 'Cons?"

Finally, _finally_ the weapon moved, disappearing so smoothly that even watching Prime had no clue where it was stored.

"Old Megs is funny that way," Jazz actually purred, shifting to slide slender, sharp-tipped fingers across the glass of Prime's upper chassis. "He wants you for himself. No other mech is allowed to touch you."

"Nice blade, by the way," Prime replied with nonchalance, inwardly struggling to keep his voice steady. His sensor net had obviously remained online. Had he been able to, he would have arched into the touch. "Prowl might send you to the brig for violating your Prime while his motor control is down, you know," he added.

"I'd like to see him try," Jazz purred in all his dangerous glory, sending a tremor of _want_ through his Prime's field, a god made physical, and that flashed heat through every circuit in Jazz's frame. Despite the charge in both their frames, he leaned forward, close to Prime's battle mask. "You know you can say no," he barely let the sounds out. It was a break from control, from what both their systems were beginning to scream for, but he still wasn't comfortable enough in his rank and with his Prime not to reassure them both this was fully consensual.

"Jazz," Optimus practically growled, the designation an answer in itself. This was one of only a few mechs who would 'face him without a look of worship or awe in his optics. "I believe you have a point to prove about how inadequate my defenses are against a talented operative determined to gain entrance," he added with a smirk behind the mask he could not retract not matter how much he wanted to interrupt the easy smile above him with a claiming kiss.

The single word caused Jazz to shiver, his engine revving hard as he went to work exploring the much, much larger frame with reverence, but no more than he held for any lover. As powerful as the Prime still was, Jazz had walked too many paths in his functioning to be awed, worship - or fear him - for more than a few spark-beats at a time. But Jazz did treasure him greatly. He was awed by what Prime had done for him, the trust he had shown. And he worked tirelessly to remain worthy of that faith.

"I'm going to take your spark this orn, Prime," Jazz growled, his entire sensor net glowing with ghostly touches as Prime extended his EM field, pushing it deep into the smaller mech's systems.

Optimus chuckled, deliberately withdrawing his powerful field until it was tight against him, before pushing it hard through the saboteur's own once again. Even without motor control, he was a force to be reckoned with. His spark was lunging in its crystal casing in anticipation of merging with one that was strong enough to feel like an equal.

Jazz groaned and thrust his own field directly into Prime's core, the edge of it just brushing his spark chamber, as his claws dug into the transparent material of Prime's windshield.

Prime's optics flashed as his engine revved; there wasn't a doubt that had his motor function been online, the silver minibot would have found himself against the wall being thoroughly violated in all the best ways. He deliberately let his optics travel from the elegant sensory structures on the saboteur's helm to his cranial port. He turned his attention and allowed his field to teasingly graze the seam in Jazz's chest.

"Jazz," he said again, this time in the voice he used when he commanded.

The silver mech trembled in arousal, want and the effort it took to deny such a direct order.

"I'm in charge, Prime," Jazz hissed under the strain, thrusting his field in deep again. "My desires, my timing. Not yours."

"Then take charge, Jazz," Prime growled, unable to hide the sound of his fans kicking in. "You are trembling," the large mech noted, and would have smirked if he could.

With a hard push of his field directly into Prime's spark, Jazz grinned up at him, his visor glinting. "I know."

There was no missing the pleasure and desire in the simple reply. Just as clear to Prime was the darkness - the part of Jazz cultivated by a long life, focused on violence, and still struggling to find the balance demanded of him by his current functioning. The part of him that he literally didn't dare show around even long-time lovers and friends.

That he would show it to his Prime whom he served out of choice rather than duty or core coding felt like a triumph to Optimus. He had never regretted his own choice to trust the mech.

A magnetic pulse set a tormenting charge running through Prime's systems, dragging a moan from him that vibrated the mech still straddling his slender waist.

Sharp claws dug into his armor, a reminder of just how deadly the minibot was, even unarmed. Prime never saw the hardline connection being made, only became aware that Jazz was suddenly in his systems, pushing them hard as he actually _hacked_ his way in while shielding himself from any returned connection.

It was no easy task. Prime pushed back, hard, while simultaneously throwing up a dozen firewalls that were stronger than nearly anything Jazz had come up against. He coupled it with another sharp thrust of his field into Jazz's own spark, a reminder of just how powerful the spark was the Jazz intended to merge with.

~Convince me to lower my firewalls, and I will,~ Optimus purred through their connection, with a subtle hint that there were far more effective ways of doing so than force.

It was enough to startle Jazz, draw a resonant moan of raw need from him as his determination to dominate his lover faltered along with his effort to force his way in. For the briefest of nanokliks, Jazz let slip that as much as he desired to overcome Prime, he had equal desire _not_ to be the one in charge, showing Optimus through the connection how badly he wanted to be taken by a mech worthy of doing so.

Then the moment was over. Jazz growled, feeling honestly threatened for a faint moment now that Prime knew, as they both stilled their processors in an effort to settle into the pleasure once more.

~There is something especially sexy about seeing you uncertain for a nanoklik. Almost as erotic as how certain you are the rest of the time, Jazz.~

Every time Prime said the designation, he could feel the effect it had on his fourth-in-command who had been elevated so quickly to that rank that many gossiped it was because of exactly what they were doing at the moment, unaware of how rarely the two of them had crossed this particular line.

He tried to send a tendril of pleasure through Jazz's systems, only to be deflected by the powerful, adaptive firewalls that were as classically Jazz as his visor and smirk.

"Open," Jazz suddenly growled, as commanding as Prime had ever heard.

Optimus actually chuckled. "Give me back some motor control, and I will. Otherwise, you'll have to access that system."

Prime felt the desire behind Jazz's shields shift from sensual to needy of comfort as he hacked into systems, claws, moving with far too much familiarity in forcing other's chests open, working their magic as well.

Prime let out a low moan as his casing moved up and forward even as his chest plates moved to the side with a hiss of hydraulics. He wanted to pull the smaller mech down, to bite on the cables of his neck and hold him so close that his large hands would dent the saboteur's armor.

"Please," the giant mech quietly rumbled, even as a burst of pleasure finally made it past Jazz's firewalls to ricochet through the former 'Cons's systems.

Jazz keened sharply before falling into a warble of distress, his chest opening as well to bring his spark case forward, the prismatic hues of the Prime's spark shattering what self-control he had left.

Prime found himself free to move, Jazz's visor locked on his optics as the minibot trembled in a need very different than he'd expected. Optimus lost control, roared in desire, pulling Jazz's much smaller torso into his own, no desire or need to take the merge slow as the tendrils from their coronas twined around one another in something that was equal parts battle and intimate caress, surface emotions of desire, need, trepidation and excitement quickly giving way to far deeper feelings.

There was no hiding that Optimus desired this particular mech far more than any other. Jazz was assaulted by Prime's fear of rejection, the pain and loneliness of command without someone who could truly be a partner, an equal, at least in private.

It took a moment longer for Jazz to open up, but when he did, nothing of importance to him was held back: Desperate loneliness so old, only recognized when Prime had forced his healing spark into him long ago; Desire to be treasured for something other than his ability to kill without being seen or drag information out of well-protected processors and sparks; Passion for every moment of functioning, whether it brought pain, pleasure or boredom; a niggling that he should feel less comfortable with his duties and the pleasure he derived from the most cruel of them.

Beyond all that, the last thing Jazz allowed to come to light was his desire to be more than an occasional lover to the mech with him, recognition that he'd finally met his equal, not just in strength, but in passion. Optimus was his _balance_, that thing he'd been searching nearly his entire functioning for. All of this was held within the sad resignation of just how unlikely they were to move beyond this.

Jazz treasured these small moments of absolute peace when he allowed his Prime to comfort him more than Optimus had ever known.

It was all met with a 'yes' so profound it shook them both and their sparks seemed to lunge to complete the merge, to wipe out the vast loneliness of both sparks with a profound acceptance and welcome, taking them deeper than either had ever gone with the other, spark energy spilling into their systems in an overload as sweet as either had felt.

The rumbling roar and keening that filled Prime's berth chamber covered the sounds of a base-wide alarm, and it wasn't until the door slid open and Ironhide burst in with his cannons spinning backed up by a dozen other security mechs that Jazz or Prime had a sense that anything was happening beyond a merge that both had been craving for vorns.

Core coding kicked in, and Prime stood with a roar to guard his lover's spark, his sword pointed straight at Ironhide's chest before his own chestplates had even managed to close. It was more than enough to cover Jazz's own reaction, which was to all but meld into the shadows and come up on the nearest frontliner back-up and knock his motor controls out far more violently than he had Prime's.

"Stand down!" Came a shouted order from the front room of Prime's suite. A dull looking brown mech even smaller than Jazz was pushing his way through the bulky frontliners as a second frontliner fell into frozen surprise at Jazz's hand. If his face had not been so furiously energetic, Eclipse, Prime's SIC and head of SpecOps could have been mistaken for an empty, his frame seemed too ill-constructed and pieced together to be anything other but someone scavenging out a meager existence on spare parts and stolen energon.

Jazz reacted instantly, slipping to his commander's side, though he didn't exactly stand down.

"I said stand down, Ironhide!" Eclipse roared again until Ironhide slowly lowered his cannons. Only then did Optimus switch out of battle mode, his optics returning to their normal deep blue as he deactivated and withdrew his weapon to the holster in his forearm.

"Jazz disabled your team and gained entry on Prime's orders," Eclipse said with a smirk. "We were testing security against a possible 'Con assassination attempt. Though, I don't recall clanking bolts with the victim being a part of the plan, Jazz," the small mech added with a chuckle.

"Though it is certainly a pleasant way to be assassinated," Optimus added.

"And was never not an option," Jazz snickered.

Ironhide's optics flashed dangerously; he looked torn between storming from the room and tearing the smirks off the two SpecOps mechs' faceplates.

He settled on an uncharacteristic show of humility before the mech he was charged with protecting. He lowered himself to his knees, his arms spread in the ritual posture of offering his spark for his failure.

"I have failed you, Prime. I am no longer fit to be your guardian."

With a soft venting, Optimus put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "Stand Ironhide, my friend, you will always be my guardian. They have, regrettably, proven their point that we need a security specialist to fill in the gasps in our preparations."

Ironhide slowly stood, moving to take his place to the side and slightly in front of his Prime.

"That's a bunch of slag and you know it, Ironhide," Eclipse stepped forward and looked up at the mech fully twice his height, and by far his elder, as though he were dressing down a youngling. "Prime needs a guardian and dedicated warrior-guards against assaults. But he needs ... we _all_ need someone more skilled in guarding against possible infiltration and espionage. My unit has its hands full trying to do just that to the other side, and our security division, while having plenty of former enforcers, does not have someone with counterintelligence expertise."

"You are not going to get an argument from me," Prime added. "While I am quite certain a 'Con agent would not be as adept at slipping in as Jazz or his former team, I will not underestimate who Soundwave has trained in the meantime." Prime knew full well that Jazz had only used a portion of his skill in the mock assassination attempt, simply to prove the point. There was no need to humiliate Ironhide any further with that particular fact.

"Ironhide, Eclipse, I want to meet with both of you, as well as Ratchet, Prowl and Circuitbreak at second watch. Jazz will join us as well. Jazz, you stay here. Everyone else is dismissed." Optimus ordered sternly, but not before clasping his guardian on the shoulder.

The room had barely cleared before a dangerous, if small, silver mech found himself up against the wall, his mouth crushed in a kiss that was eagerly, needily returned with all the fire and passion that Jazz was so well known for in everything he did.

"Please," Jazz begged shamelessly as their mouths parted briefly. "Just for the rest of the shift, be lovers."

"Only for the rest of the shift?" Optimus asked softely before his glossa once more invaded the saboteur's mouth and he pressed him even harder against the wall. The hand that wasn't holding Jazz's aft ran down the silver mech's side before cupping his interface panel, sending a magnetic pulse purposefully at what was underneath. He broke off for a moment and mouthed Jazz's sensory structures, murmuring, "I think you should break into my quarters every recharge cycle, Jazz."

"Anytime I can," he cried out, trembling at the pulse and opening the panel. "Didn't want to presume."

Prime's cables snaked out of his neck, shoulder and thigh, caressing the matching ports on the smaller mech and found them already open and waiting for him.

"I _want_ you to presume," Optimus rumbled as he jacked in, the exact opposite of what Jazz had done earlier to him. "Just like I want _all_ of you right now: ports, valve, and spark."

He truly hadn't expected the strength of his feelings that would arise being helpless under the dangerous mech earlier, the need for an equal like he hadn't had since he and his brother had parted ways. He needed soomeone who was bold enough to tell him off to his face, who wasn't afraid of him simply because of his spark and the matrix that rested beside it.

"Yesss," a low, hungry hiss escaped the saboteur as cables snaked out from him to jack into Prime's systems. "Take everything ya can. Ya already know the worst I've done."

"Take you, yes," Prime said in a whisper that still seemed to travel through the smaller mech. With a low rumble of sheer need, Optimus sheathed his large spike in Jazz's valve, feeling the burning stretch of the tight _tight_ sheath through the hardline connection. At the same moment he bit down on one of Jazz's neck cables, lapping up the spots of energon that appeared.

They felt Jazz's shock in the same moment, then the smaller mech arched against Prime and pressed into both sources of pain-pleasure that just as quickly became pleasure-pain. Raw, unfiltered desire slammed into Prime's awareness from his lover, along with the familiarity of the pain and enjoyment of it, welcomed as a long lost friend.

It was a side of himself that Prime did not dare show any of his other lovers, who, no matter how close they were as friends, always were aware that they were interfacing with their _Prime_, with nobility, patience, and kindness personified.

Prime bit down again as he thrust in _hard_, hitting sensors that hadn't been lit inside Jazz since the mech had been with Seekers or Megatron as a lover.

Just that thought had him thrusting in harder, a hand clawing at Jazz's chestplates ready to rip them open if they didn't part fast enough. He had no doubt that Jazz wouldn't object, would relish the pain as much as the pleasure with the knowledge that Optimus was sharing something few others had ever experienced: The part of Prime that was more like his brother than he'd ever admit.

The burn and bite Jazz felt was passed without filtering to Prime, trusting the mech to take what he gave. Mingled in were small thought-images of what other times could be like. Prime bound tightly but fully in control of his frame as Jazz explored him and his limits in pleasure, pain and patience. Both of them stripped to their protoforms, tenderly bringing each other to overload in the hot oil bath Jazz knew was attached to Prime's quarters. Cycling up for duty shift pressed close together, a quick overload before they polished the evidence from their exoskeletons.

Their chambers were spiraling open, spilling multi-hued light into the room and against each other's frame. Their sparks were reaching for one another before Prime's chest plates had parted enough for Jazz to fit between.

Optimus met those images with a desire that would have knocked Jazz off of his pedes had he not already been pinned against the wall. It took every self-control protocol Prime had to keep from pulling Jazz's spark into his own with the same strength that he was claiming the minibot's valve.

Jazz wrapped his legs around Prime's hips as best he could, shifting the angle of penetration and dragging a raw scream from his vocalizer as the first wave of intense overload slammed through them, catching both mechs by surprise. All Jazz could do was grab hold of the frame pinning his and hold on tightly for dear functioning as they road out the crackling explosions of energy dancing between their circuits.

Their sparks were practically lunging from their casings to reach one another. Prime let out a feral growl and carried Jazz to the berth, his spike still buried deep, no longer trusting his own pedes to keep them upright.

Bracing himself on his elbow joints, he lowered himself over Jazz's spark, his systems still buzzing from the intense overload.

~I'm yours,~ Jazz's spark sang joyfully to Optimus the moment the first strands from their coronas made contact. ~You're mine,~ was hot, possessive, protective.

~Yes,~ Prime moaned aloud with the thoughts. As soon as the surface emotions and lust was brushed by, a single thought stood out above all the others: Prime had lost his Lord High Protector. In Jazz, he saw a mech who could be that for him. Optimus had shared the desire with him before, long ago, but it had been too much for Jazz to even contemplate at time with his entire functioning in turmoil due to his defection.

The silver form under him shuddered in surprise and a half-formed reflexive denial before his processors caught up and Jazz moaned, driving his claws deep into the thick, toughened armor above him. Programs central to infiltration and impersonation activated without actual thought and downloaded everything from Prime and the net about what he was being asked to become. Data streamed, cross-referenced, cross-checked and correlated.

~I will,~ Jazz responded, his processors completely clear of the distraction that his body and spark were under.

Prime shuddered in relief and longing, his own multi-colored, powerful spark literally pulling Jazz's into itself. His last coherent thought before losing himself in the merge was, ~I ask it purely selfishly. I don't want to take you away from your current functioning. It is too important to all of us. But privately ... I am so alone. And so are you. You know what my brother was to me, before. Your spark is stronger than his. I saw that the first time we merged.~

The only reply was a wash of affection, understanding and agreement before Jazz surrendered the last of his independent awareness to the forming unity.


	2. Designing a Mech

**Fandom**: Transformers Bayverse  
**Author**: gatekat and femme4jack on LJ  
**Pairing**: Red Alert/Inferno  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Codes**: Slash, Kinky, Sticky, PnP, Tactile  
**Summary**: With the point made and accepted that the Autobots need a new Security Chief, Prime has the joy of trying to keep the various interested parties from killing each other.  
**Notes**: Written for (community .livejournal .com/redxinferno)'s February challenge: Beginnings (community .livejournal .com/redxinferno/39491 .html). It got a a _little_ out of hand and turned into it's own verse.  
Credit to Angelcat for the idea of First Aid being a sort of New Age kind of doc who thinks that having an aesthetically pleasant medbay helps with the healing.  
~text~ bond talk  
::text:: comm chatter

* * *

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Calming Fire 2: Designing a Mech

* * *

Optimus Prime swept his gaze over the gathered mechs, the core of his command officers plus two specialists in Jazz and Circuitbreak.

"We have all accepted the need put forward by Special Operations for the new Chief of Security mech and position," he opened the meeting that was both grim and light-sparked. They were discussing a new life, after all. "I'd like to hear everyone's thoughts on it before we work on the details."

"You already know my objections," Ratchet spoke up. "Sparks are short-lived enough in this slagging war without creating an adult preprogrammed whose spark will expire far sooner than a sparkling-framed. Not to mention the potential for minor or even severe glitches when you combine the personality matrix needed with the sensors and prosessors as powerful as I know they're going to ask for. We should train for this position, not create for it."

"How would you propose to do without this specialist until we can train and upgrade someone to do it as well?" Eclipse asked calmly. True to his nature, he was still willing to listen to new data, new ideas, and given them a fair judging even this far along.

"We have everything prepared for even a major glitch," Jazz added. "Your point about being at war gives more reason to go pre-programmed. It's not like anyone is that likely to survive as long as one would anyway."

Even Ratchet knew that the other options weren't ideal. He vented. "It is against my programming to purposefully bring someone online who we know will suffer because of the coding we give him. I know those ideals don't have any place in war, but every vorn we lose more and more of what we were. There are mechs who could do just as good a job now, without additional training. Three of them are in this room. But even I know that we can't spare them from their current functions."

"I agree," Prowl responded in his steady, calm voice. "There are others who could perform the task, but the probability of such a change in functioning causing us additional losses ranges from 65.325 - 82.493% depending on the mech in question. The proposed solution is the only one which lowers the percentage of losses we are currently suffering."

No one needed to say that they were already losing too many mechs, too fast, and that the need to hide the Allspark made replacement of those numbers impossible.

"Then the question is how do we minimize the suffering of this particular mech without undermining his proposed function?" Prime asked, this fingers steepled together, tapping on his chin.

The two SpecOps mechs shared a look before Jazz spoke.

"We have a mech in mind, that can be spared from his current function for a useful place in this unit, that has all the markers of being able to temper the worst of even a severe glitch. He's loyal enough to do what's needed and caring enough to satisfy even Ratchet."

The room was silent for nearly a klik as Prime raised an optic ridge and regarded the two special ops mechs. He appeared to be about to say something, but then shook his head.

"I don't think I care to know how often you order a subordinate to romantically pursue another, Jazz," Ratchet murmured, not even needing to direct the comment Eclipse. They were all aware the discretion the SIC gave to his own second when it came to matters of maintaining morale. Their operatives worked as much among the Autobots as the Decepticons, and pleasurebots had a special and well-respected place on the SpecOps team.

"Less often than you fear and more than either of us would like," Jazz responded with a typical Ops non-answer. "So, any other questions before we get down to the details?" He looked around the table and at the other mechs, all but one of whom ranked him, as if he was the Prime and his choice was final.

"Let's get to the specifications," Ratchet said, resigned to the fact that this particular mech would likely require as much time, if not more, than another preprogrammed mech in the room who was prone to a dangerous glitch. "If I can't talk you out of this, I at least want to know what I'm up against."

"Relax," Eclipse grinned at the CMO as Jazz stood and unsubspaced a small pile of datapads to hand out. "The Chief of Security position will be under the Special Operations division until we'll sure the mech and measures are all in place. It was our complaint, we'll see to the setup."

All was quiet save the gentle hum of systems around the table as they digested what was on the pad in front of them. While most simply read, both Ratchet and Prowl connected to their pads via cable and downloaded all of the specifications.

The chief engineer, Circuitbreak, projected a holographic rendering of the proposed frame based loosely on designs that came from the sciences division. The proposed mech was strange looking by any consideration. The large minibot would stand just shy of 17 feet. He had four sets of arms and optics that circled the circumference of his head. On his helm were tall, pointed sensory horns that were loaded with twice the number of sensors found on even the most state of the art sensor wings. The coloring was a surprise. Most mechs chose their own colors, but this one was a brilliant red with large sections of white. Not an unusual coloration or markings, but unusual to be set at this stage.

"As you can see," the engineer began proudly, "the mech in question has the most powerful sensory suite that we have designed to date, all designed to interface seamlessly with the sensor-net of any given facility. What a base or ship's sensors cannot pick up, his own will. There is literally nothing that can happen within his sensory range that he will not be able to know about if he chooses."

Prowl was the first to respond. "The inclusion of standard emotional protocols will decrease his effectiveness by 28.03567%."

"They're necessary," Jazz said firmly in the tone everyone knew meant they didn't really want to know why.

Prowl asked anyway.

"Because his emotional subroutines are how we'll maintain control of him and the glitches that are expected," Eclipse responded with a small venting. "He needs to feel attraction and desire for others."

Ratchet vented, whether at the question or the response it was not certain. He then asked the first of what was surely to be many questions. "It may seem a minor matter, but why are you not allowing him to choose his colors?"

"Inferno likes red and white. A lot," Jazz answered simply. "He designed the pattern and several parts of the frame, though he's not aware of it."

"Inferno is as kind sparked as they come," Ratchet muttered. "A mech like him has no lack of partners, could likely even find a bondmate if the right circumstance came about. You will ask him to dedicate the rest of his functioning to a mech who has not yet been created, whom he might not even like, and he'll do it. He'll do it well. We are worse the Towers nobility, playing with lives this way."

"When the war is over, Inferno will be turned loose," Eclipse promised. "It is likely that the new Security Director will not require him to give up all his social life. This one _should_ turn out like Prowl. Generally able to function without supervision."

"And what will 'turning him loose', as you put it, do to the mech who has depended on him? Inferno will not turn his back on him just because he is no longer under orders. Whether you admit it or not, you are giving him a life sentence," Ratchet said in what was close to a growl.

Ironhide had been unnaturally quiet. But at that he turned toward Ratchet. "You don't know the young mech the way I do, Ratchet. The kid _needs_ someone to take care of. He already partners with some of the most glitched and hurting mechs on this base, gets 'em through a tough spot and sticks with 'em until they're ready to move on. He is also would do _anything_ for Prime. How do you know he wouldn't take to this assignment with pride? SpecOps wouldn't have picked him for the job to only make him miserable."

"No matter what you think of the tactics, I close who get these assignments _carefully_," Jazz's cheerful voice hardened significantly. "If a mech is unhappy in the company of one they are supposed to be helping, it will make the situation worse. Short term, a good acting background will make it work. Much past a vorn and you have to be at _my_ level to pull it off, and we have much better uses for mechs with my level of skill than sparkling-sitting disturbed Autobots. Inferno's come to me _asking_ to be pointed to those who really need a strong shoulder to lean on. That's how he ended up on my radar for this in the first place. This will be little different from his perspective.

"Besides, if the new SD turns out the way we expect, his glitch won't be very severe once he's no longer under war conditions," Jazz added.

Prime raised a hand to silence the exchange. "I've noted your objections, Ratchet. This is one issue I prefer to leave to the discretion of my SIC and his team. Let's get back to the proposed design. Prowl, as someone who has dealt with the stigma of being an adult-sparked, preprogrammed mech, both before and during the war, do you have thoughts on his frame or his processors? I'm not asking in terms of probability of success, but in terms of a quality of life."

It took the TIC a few moments to analyze the data before he answered. "His appearance, while very functional for his duties, will cause him significant issues outside it," he said softly, the results skating far too close to difficult subjects for him. "While I have faced many issues stemming from my construction and kindling, the PDF did recognize that it was best for the entire unit if their preprogrammed mechs looked as normal as they could manage. My department went so far as to craft minor changes in appearance and vocalizers for each of us. It was a significant benefit to those who adapted to emotional protocols better than I did, allowing them to integrate into the Autobot ranks without the stigma, as they no longer had markers of their origins."

"I agree," Prime said with a nod. "Circuitbreak, can you give him a more normal appearance without sacrificing his functionality?"

"I admit, I find his appearance intriguing, Prime, but I do see your point," the ancient engineer sounded, as always, eager to please. "I could integrate prehensile cables into his frame that could serve the same function as the additional limbs. The optics could be replaced by one highly sensitive pair that appear normal. Those nano-optics that Wheeljack designed could be placed on modified sensory horns to give him the same optical functions. The only drawback is that they are still in the experimental phase. This would be their first test run on anything other than a drone."

"For normalcy's sake, I would suggest giving him multiple smaller sensory structures rather than the large horns. Perhaps some combination of fins and smaller horns," Ratchet suggested, finally getting on board enough to offer productive ideas.

Even as the suggestions were made, the hologram above the center of the table began to change, adopting the suggestions, though never without more than a 1% loss in overall functionality.

"You could probably integrate a fair number across his frame," Jazz spoke, taking up the challenge. "Small ridges here and there," he suddenly shifted his gaze to Prime. "Would you be agreeable to bringing Mirage and Sunstreaker in on this? If we're going to try to make him look relatively normal, we couldn't get better consultants on it than a Towerling and an artist."

"I agree," Prime nodded, "Though we may have to remind them that we aren't designing the next Towerling centerfold," he added with a chuckle, silently signaling for both of the mechs to report.

"While we wait for them to come, let's discuss the proposed coding since that is the aspect that is most likely to contribute to the potential glitch," Optimus suggested.

Jazz nodded. "The bulk of his core code involves being highly possessive and protective of his territory; linking safely to positive sensations, emotional and physical. We're working to make his function feel _good_ to him on a fundamental level. A strong desire for order, obeying the rank structure and rules are key as well. While predictability is an intruder's best friend, the randomness that catches most intruders at my level comes from mechs, not any security system."

"How will his coding specifically relate to Prime, given that Prime's protection was a major factor in this decision?" Prowl asked.

Jazz shifted his gaze to his friend and sometimes rival. "That's where he becomes an Ops mech," he smiled faintly. "Protecting an individual from someone like me is, in essence, all about securing a large area. It doesn't matter how good the guards and security measures are if I can get in sniper range, or even range for a suicide assault. Plus, we have a warrior-Prime, so it would be detrimental to code him to protect _Prime_. He'd fritz completely with every battle.

"Prime is the most important mech, the most important _thing_ for him to protect, but it is very carefully channeled into base security. No matter where he is, he will focus on keeping everyone out that shouldn't be in and finding those who got in that shouldn't have."

"In short, you'll make him paranoid," Ratchet snorted.

"Mmm, yeah," Jazz agreed with a cheeky smirk. "I'm going to give him routine spark-attacks coming back from missions."

"And the potential glitch is the result of the coded paranoia?" Optimus asked.

"Not just his paranoia," Ratchet explained as he looked closely at the specs and ran his own calculations. "It is the paranoia combined with the best sensor suite we've ever created. His paranoia might lead him to not be able to filter out extraneous data. Everything will seem critical, and that level of data will overwhelm even processors as advanced as his own."

"Same issue Prowl has when he got emotional protocols," Jazz shrugged. "If you trigger the right sequence, you get a crash. There's an inherent instability involved with pushing the limits so far. We can build systems that are too advanced for any processors we can create."

"Just what form is this glitch likely to take?" Optimus pressed, causing CMO and SpecOps to exchange looks.

"If we're lucky, he'll shut down like Prowl does," Ratchet vented a deeply uneasy sound. "If we're not ... he could turn violently delusional and see everyone as a threat."

"Are there fail-safes?" Ironhide grumbled. "With his processing power, he could easily create some pit-spawned virus or worse if he becomes quietly delusional under the radar. Not much point in keeping the base safe if everyone in it's incapacitated."

"Two," Jazz answered, relaxing back. "First is coding that will direct any discovery of threats towards notification of the system, even if he is too paranoid too notify an individual. He _should_ prefer to run screaming down the halls over quiet efforts. Second is that he will spark visibly when glitching. Primarily between his horns."

"Bet you're glad that Jazz wasn't doing _your_ coding when you were created, Prowl," Eclipse commented dryly. "Who knows what he would have come up with as a fail-safe."

"None were necessary," Prowl responded evenly. "My glitch is the result of emotional protocols being installed that are expressly forbidden by my design."

Ratchet opened his mouth to comment, but then simply shook his head. Complaining about the inherent cruelty in the majority of adult-sparked coding was a lost battle during wartime.

The awkward silence was interrupted by Mirage and Sunstreaker arriving as ordered. The first made a deep and formal bow while the second folded with a sneer that didn't quite hide his interest in the holographic rendering of the new security chief.

"Mirage, Sunstreaker," Prime addressed both mechs smoothly. "We are attempting to design our new Security Director. While his specifications are what we need, it seems his chassis could use some work to enable him to fit in."

"How much freedom do I have?" Sunstreaker asked, his golden armor glinting in the room's light.

"The paintjob basics should stay and you can't decrease his effectiveness," Jazz spoke up. "Try not to make him so pretty he'll draw unwanted attention. Security Director is a desk job with worse hours than Prowler or Prime and a personality ill-suited to have attention on him regularly."

"So I'll keep the basic color scheme but make him look like something that wasn't produced in a drone factory," Sunstreaker clarified, suddenly sounding every bit the part of the arrogant professional artist as though he had been sparked for it rather than an adult-sparked frontline warrior. He took out a large datapad and scanned the image, then sat down in a corner and began to work.

Mirage, meanwhile, walked up to the holographic rendering and began to make subtle changes to the frame leading to an elegant simplicity of line. The sensory horns were given an artistic flair reminiscent of the structures on Jazz's helm. Micro winglets were added to give yet another surface for the sensor suite to cover. He elongated the legs leading to a more balanced appearance, reminiscent of some of the pleasurebot dancers that had at one time graced the parties at the Towers.

He then turned his attention to the faceplates, making minor changes to the optic shapes so they were larger, giving the mech an almost innocent expression.

Every detail was something that would attract the search and rescue mech who towered nearly as tall as Prime. Mirage obviously _knew_ just whom the new Autobot was supposed to appeal to.

Watching the process, Ironhide eventually smirked at looked at Jazz. "Why didn't ya just ask him to start with?"

"He was on a mission when the design was made," Jazz shrugged.

"It's a good thing I returned early," the noble's soft, haughty voice was smooth and politely insulting. "I truly do not wish to know what caused you to envision that mess I saw with the original design."

Jazz just huffed. "So I have a taste for the unusual."

"So who's he for?" Sunstreaker abruptly asked.

"Inferno," Mirage was the one who answered.

Sunstreaker rescanned the new image and overlaid his paint scheme before uploading it into the rendering. All of the sensory structures were now white with subtle and delicate red highlighting and swirls suggestive of glyphs, while the bulk of his frame was the opposite - a vibrant red with subtle touches of white to highlight the now elegant lines.

Nearly everyone raised an optic ridge at the affect. Jazz's engine purred in appreciation.

"Thought he wasn't supposed to be too pretty," Ironhide said with a chuckle.

"I'm pretty," Sunstreaker said with an amused smile. "He is cute. Just what Inferno likes; cute and slightly helpless looking because of the light armor and delicate appearance."

"Sunny does have a point," Jazz grinned, taking in the look. "Inferno won't need _any_ encouragement to want him. Such a sexy little thing."

"And probably plenty of others as well, to fuel his paranoia," Ratchet grumbled, though no one missed the intent way his optics remained glued on the attractive form. "Maybe his looks will help others be more forgiving of his temperament."

"Yes, because that works so well with Mirage and Sunny," Ironhide said with a snicker.

Prime stood up before the meeting could degenerate any further.

"You have all done very well. Mirage, Sunstreaker, beautiful work, which is not a surprise, but very much appreciated. Jazz, please proceed with your plans to mitigate the potential glitch, and do keep me up to date. I will with to speak with Inferno myself before the new mech comes online. Circuitbreak, what is your estimate for building the frame? We will need to time our trip to the Allspark's current location very carefully to avoid attracting unwanted attention."

"If Wheeljack works with me and Jazz works simultaneously on the coding, I can have the frame ready in two decaorn, Prime. He should be ready to be sparked in three once we've run the appropriate tests and simulations."

"Short of a mission only I can take, the coding will be finished by the time the frame is ready," Jazz inclined his head slightly.

"Good, dismissed," Prime excused them all, peripherally aware of Jazz waylaying Ratchet as the rest filed from the room.

"Don't tell me you still have damage from your last mission that you haven't reported," Ratchet groused, crossing his arms to look down at the silver mech.

"Nah, nothing like that," he shook his head with a grin. "First Aid's still unattached, right?"

Ratchet cycled his optics. "I didn't really think he was _your_ type, though he is almost as innocent and cute looking as the glitch we just finished designing. Yeah, he is unattached, or at least as unattached as part of a gestalt can be."

"Good. I'm thinking of nudging him towards Prowl," Jazz let just how serious he was into his voice. "Mech needs a friend who's _calm_, bad. Much as I like'm, I'm not good for'm. Aid'd be good for him, and he'd give Aid someone to fuss over that needs it worse than you."

"Well, I can't argue with you not being good for Prowl. You've sent him glitched to my medbay at least twice as often as any other mech on base," Ratchet managed to make is sound as though Jazz had done so purposefully.

The silver minibot simply snorted and waited for the medic to process the idea fully.

"That is actually a tremendous idea," he admitted after a moment. "First Aid needs someone to take care of, and Primus knows the mech puts as much if not more work into caring for mech's emotions as his frame. But don't make it an order. Aid will need for it to feel like it was his own idea."

"I wasn't planning on ordering anything," Jazz promised, leaning back against the table that came nearly to his shoulder strut. "Just nudging him to look after Prowl a bit more directly. Unless you'd rather tell him?"

Ratchet vented, obviously torn about involving himself in such machinations.

"I'll talk with him and suggest it," he said with a resigned grimace. "First Aid definitely needs a project. He is starting to decorate medbay."

Jazz managed to suppress the grin for a moment, then burst out in laughter that was pure delight. "Don't count on this helping. The mech has some odd ideas about healing according to 'Raj."

Ratchet cycled his optics and let out a snort. "Don't even get me started. Crystals, resonance, music and art therapy and talking about feelings in a wartime medbay. If he wasn't so good in an emergency," and in calming patients down through his ridiculous practices, he added mentally, "I'd have transferred him long ago, but the kid is damn good."

"As good as a certain CMO was at his age?" Jazz teased, entirely too amused by the mental images he was getting of Ratchet using First Aid's methods.

"I wasn't a medic when I was that age, so we'll never know, will we? War made me a medic, so I patch em up to send them out to get killed." Ratchet grumbled. "I don't have time to worry about EM balancing, crystal resonance and all that slag." He spun and left the room before the conversation could go any further. He still heard Jazz's continued snickering for far too long.

Sometimes, that mech had a death wish. 


	3. Being Kindled

**Fandom**: Transformers Bayverse  
**Author**: gatekat and femme4jack on LJ  
**Pairing**: Red Alert/Inferno  
**Rating**: R for mech/mech  
**Codes**: Slash, Tactile, Spark-sex, Dub-con  
**Summary**: Red Alert is called from the Allspark and finds that his imprinter is a most agreeable choice.  
**Notes**: Written for (community .livejournal .com/redxinferno)'s February challenge: Beginnings (community .livejournal .com/redxinferno/39491 .html). It got a a _little_ out of hand and turned into it's own verse.  
~text~ bond talk  
::text:: comm chatter

* * *

****

Calming Fire 3: Being Kindled

* * *

He settled in his creator's energy, content beyond all contentment.

_"You are sure, my child?"_ The voice around him radiated concern and care. _"It will be a short, disturbing existence for the one who enters that frame."_

"You called me because I could handle it the best," the small spark pulsed warmly, so calm and relaxed. "I won't have another suffer because it would be unpleasant for me. I know you will heal me when it is over."

The little spark felt intense pride swell all around him. His creator expressing without words his reaction before sending the spark on its way.

* * *

Red Alert's first awareness was of being closed in; trapped. Fear roared at his spark. Confinement meant capture. Capture was failure. Failure was unacceptable.

_Systems initialized ... stand-by_

_Core programming initialization ... Completed._

_Running stability check. ... completed. Stabilized._

_Running capacity check. ... completed._

_Emotional protocols online._

_Systems check ... Connecting ... Completed._

_Analyzing Systems:  
Sensor suite on stand by.  
Weapons systems disabled.  
Communications disabled.  
HUD online.  
Self repair online.  
Energon pump and lines at optimal functioning.  
Hydraulics online.  
Lubrication network online._

_Running Systems Check. Running ... Completed._

_Analyzing function files. Affiliation: Autobot. Designation: To be determined. Function: Autobot Chief of Security under command of Special Operations. Connecting data files._

_Initializing sensor suite. Completed. Sensor suite online at 100% capacity._

A billion sounds flooded his audios, the full spectrum flooded his optics, and nearly half a million other sensors all took in the world at once.

A shrieking sound overpowered his audios and they went offline even as blinding light offlined his optics.

Less than a nanoklik later he realized that the sound had been his own voice, screaming at the assault on his sensors.

_Internal comms initializing on external command. Communications enabled._

::Hey there, easy now. It's ok. Adjust your audio and visual sensors to 10% capacity.::

::Done. Who are you?::

::Designation's Inferno, formerly search and rescue, now I'm in your division. Do you know who you are?::

::I think my Designation is Red Alert.::

A pair of light blue optics cautiously came on line and took in the very large red mechanism directly in front of them. Protocols came up unbidden, locking onto a complicated section of the form. By the time the designation 'Inferno' appeared attached to the circle around that section on his HUD Red Alert realized it was facial recognition.

This was one of his kind.

More protocols ran, injecting emotions into the quickly growing links associated with 'Inferno'. Emotions that made him accept what the large mech said. Compliance with this one was safety. Safety was good.

::What is your function?:: Red Alert asked through the open comm link.

::At the moment I am assigned to be your imprinter. Adult preprogrammed mechs awaken connected to a mech with strong caretaker protocols to guide them through the inevitable confusion of coming online for the first time as an mech rather than a sparkling. You will find the information in your datefiles under the filename 'kindling protocols.' I will be spending at least the next metacycle in that capacity, or until the CMO deems that function to no longer be useful to you. Do you feel ready to stand and meet your Lord Prime who called your spark from Primus through the Allspark?::

::Yes,:: Red Alert said without hesitation and send the commands through unfamiliar pathways to stand. It all happened without even checking if it was true. Things deeper than protocols demanded he always answer that call and for a reason he wasn't ready to analyze his spark sang with anticipation to meet the Lord Prime.

Balance took a fractional moment to assert itself, only enough for him to sway briefly, and he looked around. Facial recognition and datafiles identified the three others in the room.

Small brown oddity. Eclipse. Autobot Second in Command. Autobot Head of Special Operations. Red Alert's immediate superior.

Mid-sized red and white with black chevron. Ratchet. Autobot Chief Medical Officer.

The largest, painted red and blue, was the immediately focus when optics reached him. This was his Lord Optimus Prime.

Again protocols he wasn't aware of prompted him to kneel and lower himself fully, his faceplates nearly to the polished floor, before the Lord Prime.

While he did so, other protocols screamed about the reduction in data, the vulnerable position.

Even kneeling he could sense the large mech approaching him, and another set of protocols engaged calculating his ability to escape said mech with or without injury. In this case, the chance of escape without injuries was less than .000000831%. Escaping with injuries was little better. This mech, literally, could extinguish his spark in a nanoklik if he chose. Between his formidable weaponry and heavy armor, Red Alert did not stand a chance.

Something in his posture must have given away his thoughts.

"Welcome, newly kindled child of Primus. You undoubtedly know who I am. You have no need to fear those who are present. We have all been involved in designing your frame, and I didn't call forth your spark just to harm it. Stand up and tell us your designation."

Without hesitation, he rose to stand on both pedes, only now noticing that he was only just taller than the SIC, and the other three were giants compared to them.

_Minibot frame_ his processors supplied.

"My Designation is Red Alert, Lord Prime. My function is the Autobot Chief of Security."

Red Alert focused closely on the facial components of his leader as he spoke. "An excellent designation. How are you feeling?" Prime asked him. His emotion recognition protocols supplied that the upward turn of the giant mech's lips was intended to communicate relaxed friendliness. His tone was attempting to be non-threatening and soothing; the deep baritone at just the right resonance to feel as though it were moving through the systems of those he spoke to. Prime's voice was designed to elicit a reaction - everything from instantaneous obedience of an order that would lead to one's own demise to instant relaxation and attraction when the voice was soft as it was now.

The security mech's interfacing protocols came online.

He examined them, their purpose, and the emotional protocols that were associated with them and opted to shut them down for now.

But the question: Prime had asked him a question that demanded an answer. How did he feel?

Unsafe, insecure, vulnerable, and anxious. His sensors mapped out the room with the giant cube in the center. It was heavily fortified, guarded, and had a state of the art security system, but he could already calculate 1086 possible scenarios in which the security would fail to protect the ancient relic within, and that number was growing exponentially. Most of them were due to threats from inside the Autobot forces, whose designations, functions and service records were already part of his data files.

He must have taken far too much time to answer the question because Ratchet took a step toward him, an expression on his faceplates that indicated concern.

He answered quickly. He did not want the CMO to run any intrusive diagnostics on him in which his coding could be changed or his sensors disabled. It would leave him far too vulnerable.

"I feel like I would like to assume my duties to create secure environments from which you and our faction can base our operations. If you will allow, I will first correct several gaping security flaws in this facility that could allow those with hostile intent to damage or steel the Allspark, my Lord Prime."

His sensors noted that his vocal processors had taken on a distinctly sharp timbre that emotional recognition protocols associated with anxiety.

A large, gentle hand settled on his shoulder and his systems settled a bit.

_Inferno._

Inferno meant safety.

"Ratchet, he's fine," Inferno spoke with a calm, deep certainty. "It takes longer than normal to analyze when you're new and complex."

"While your desire to assume your duties is admirable, it will take at least a decaorn for you to settle into your own systems."

Optimus again used the tone of voice intended to produce a feeling of relaxed arousal and the desire to obey. He noted that his spark seemed to pulse pleasantly in response, sending a gentle surge throughout his systems that eased the anxiety. He _wanted_ to be calm in response to that voice.

The hand on his shoulder gently ran down his back and his spark pulsed again, even more pleasantly, a tingle spreading through his systems. Once again, he found his interface protocols coming online. This time, he opted to place them on standby rather than shutting them down, examining his system's physical and emotional responses that followed.

He realized that they were waiting for him to respond again. "Yes my Lord Prime. I will assume my duties whenever you deem that I am ready. What are my orders in the meantime?" The words that emerged from his vocal processors were in a far softer timbre, and he noticed a pleased expression on Ratchet's faceplates.

Calmness would keep the medic at bay, then. A very good thing to know. Calmness was approved of.

"An ornly check-up from Ratchet to ensure that your systems and spark remain stable and are integrating correctly," Prime motioned with his head towards the medic. "Recharge and refuel as needed. Spend the remainder of your time understanding your own systems and meeting the mechs and facilities you will be protecting. This facility's security will be under your command due to its supreme strategic importance. We will return to our main base at Iacon in an orn. I would suggest that Inferno give you a tour of this facility."

"And show you your quarters so you can recharge soon. Your systems will automatically send you into recharge three times each orn while you are integrating," Ratchet added.

Red Alert again felt rising panic at the notion of forced recharge, a state that left him terribly vulnerable. However, the suggestion to tour the facility soothed him. Even if not on duty yet, he would have an opportunity to see first hand the deficiencies to the security he would need to correct. It was best to start documenting those now so changes could be made before the worst came to pass.

"Yes sir," Red Alert responded quietly with a slight bow toward Prime and a nod to Ratchet."

"Do you have any questions, for any of us?" Prime asked in his gentle tone.

Red Alert considered for a moment. He had many questions, though he was reluctant to reveal them in such a public setting and to all of the mechs present.

"How often will you be with me during my integration period?" he finally asked, looking up at the large red figure of Inferno whose very presence meant safety.

"All of it," the giant smiled warmly, his smooth baritone nearly as deep as Prime's and just as soothing. "It is the imprinter's duty to always be close to their mech to answer question, protect them and ensure their safety. My berth here and in Iacon is large enough for both of us."

The preprogrammed mech nodded in understanding, finding a slight smile forming on his own faceplates. He was fascinated that he had not consciously willed it to take place. His emotional protocols created the somatic response effortlessly in response to his own feeling of security.

Red Alert found his spark once again pulsing pleasantly, even faster than before. For a moment, his sensors were focused only on the large mech. He had a nearly irresistible urge lean into the large frame, circle his arms around Inferno's waist and to rest his helm just below the giant's chestplates.

A small part of him wanted to evaluate _why_ the mech had such a calming affect on him, but every time he attempted to look at that part of his code, he found himself suddenly distracted by his sensors or losing interest just as quickly. He thought he should be concerned about that, but could not make himself do so.

"Come on, Red," Inferno's soft rumble distracted him once more with the lightest of touches to get him to move towards the only door in the room. "Let's get the initial exam out of the way so we can get some energon and explore the base a bit."

Though the big mech remained silent, Red Alert had no problems tracking Ratchet as he followed the pair out. He incremented his senses up to 15%, then 20%, backing off only when there was pain and only to the point where it was 'merely' uncomfortable before notching them up once more when his systems had adapted to the impute level.

He began taking note of what his sensors registered at this level. He could hear the energon, lubricants and other fluids moving through Ratchet's systems as the mech walked behind them, and could hear the same from Prime, Eclipse, and a third mech who were still in the Allspark chamber. The chamber was supposed to be soundproof, but whomever put up the shielding did not have his audio sensors in mind. The three mechs were discussing his kindling and potential in animated tones. They were pleased with him, especially the third voice who had not bee present in the room.

Ratchet was sub-vocalizing his mutters and Red Alert could make out each mouthed complaint. The CMO was unhappy with the level of paranoia implicit in his coding. He quickly wrote a subroutine to trigger himself to display as little of that paranoia in front of the medic as possible to avoid dangerous intrusions into his systems.

"Why were you assigned to me?" he suddenly asked the large mech whose hand was still lightly touching his shoulder in a tension-taming gesture.

"Jazz, the one who proposed both your position and your specs, knew you'd need a very calm mech to imprint on," Inferno explained easily, a smile on his features and voice full of pride as he continued. "He decided that I was the best match for your needs. My function may be search and rescue and fire suppression, but my passion is helping others, especially those new to functioning. I'd be an imprinter all the time if there was any need for it."

Red Alert quickly examined the data he had on Inferno's frame, function, and service record, and found that he had served as an imprinter 137 times, both prior to and during his service as an Autobot. He also found himself experiencing a feeling his emotional protocols labeled as sadness about that fact.

He wanted to be unique and special to the giant mech.

The large frame was aesthetically pleasing to him, and his voice was so calming and arousing at once. His interface protocols pinged a request to go off standby.

The response confused him, so he looked through all of the information he had on imprinter mechs and could not find the answer to his question.

"Is it normal for a preprogrammed mech to desire to interface with his imprinter?" He asked the question without worry or shame. It felt _safe_ to ask the large mech anything. Somehow he knew that Inferno would never put him at risk.

The smile and look he received only reinforced that feeling. "While not common, it's not abnormal. Though to avoid Ratchet's ire, we should wait until after your checkup and energon before exploring it much."

A small sound came from his vocal processors, a laugh, his emotional coding indicated, and he found his faceplates spread in his first honest grin.

"Well, I wasn't suggesting here in the hall or in medbay. That would be far too risky," he said quietly as he continued to enjoy the continued warm flutter in his spark at his first experience with humor. "I just was trying to figure out why those particular protocols keep engaging when you or Prime speak."

"Everybody reacts to Prime that way," Inferno grinned. "At least when he's not displeased. He's a very sexy mech, and his spark can heal many injuries."

Red Alert attempted to look deep within his own code to find the protocols that led to the attraction. He found he was blocked from accessing his functions on that deep a level, and felt a tremor of fear.

He wanted to ask Inferno about why parts of his systems were off limits to him, but they had reached their destination. It was a room with a large table, and overhead was an arm-like structure that held numerous devices he didn't care to know the purpose for. He found himself putting a hand over his chest in reflexive action.

Ratchet would want to see his spark, the part of him his coding demanded he protect at all cost by protecting the bases he was responsible for.

But what to do about a single mech? A medic who could revise his own code without his knowing, or put him in stasis and do anything to him he wished?

What if the medic was secretly an enemy?

"Shu," Inferno crooned at him, rubbing his backstrut in a long, soothing motion. "Ratchet's a good mech and the best medic around. There's no danger with him."

"On the berth," Ratchet instructed gruffly, though not nearly with the usual grumpiness.

Once again, his reaction to Inferno's touch and assurance was immediate, and again he sought out the coding that led to the reaction, but found himself instead running an internal diagnostic on his spark integration, hoping so spare himself the need to open his chest plates. He never even noted the change of topic of his attention, never saw the sliver of code the activated anytime he looked too deep.

He carefully climbed onto the berth, wrapping his arms around the midjoints of his pedes, which were bent to cover his chest. His pede supports were flat on the berth.

He followed Ratchet's movements as the mech first scanned him, sending a highly uncomfortable prickling sensation through his tactile sensors. Then the medic extended a cable from his wrist. Before the CMO could explain or plug in, Red Alert had grabbed it in a lightening fast reflex.

"Hey!" Ratchet yelped in surprise. "Relax," his tone quickly changed to a soothing one as he motioned Inferno to touch the distressed new spark. "It's a normal procedure. I'm just going to make sure everything is running the way it should."

"You can trust Ratchet," Inferno added, his hand once more sliding up and down Red Alert's backstrut to sooth him. "He will only do what Prime wants him to."

Red Alert scanned the room for anything that could endanger himself or Inferno while he was in the vulnerable state of being hardlined to the medic, and jacked up his sensors another 5% to monitor the goings on outside. He could hear the energon pumps of mechs at the other end of the base, while the sounds of his own systems and those of the other two mechs in the room bordered on deafening.

After evaluating the information his sensors collected and finding not threats that needed to be dealt with immediately, he gave a minute nod and spiraled open the data-port on his neck.

"Thank you," Ratchet responded and plugged in.

Red Alert watched the medic's probes carefully, making note of everything he looked at, every line of code examined. Nothing was edited, nothing was touched beyond reading it. After entirely too long, the medic backed out of the connection.

"Everything seems to be integrating well," Ratchet seemed pleased. "I would like you to take longer between increasing your sensor input, but you seem to be handling it well enough. How do you feel, physically?"

"I don't have any basis for comparison," Red Alert said quietly. "My frame seems to be functioning adequately. My interface systems may have a problem, but I can't access them. Why can't I access my own base coding?"

"It is a safety measure," Ratchet answered with all the markers of honesty. "Until a mech understands their frame and upper level coding fully, core code is locked away to prevent the newly kindled mech from damaging themselves attempting to change code they don't fully understand. You could cripple or even extinguish yourself editing core code.

"Now, about the interface systems. Try to describe what is happening."

"They keep activating without my conscious signal. If I put them on standby, they reengage quickly." Red Alert's tone was aggrieved.

Ratchet smiled gently. "That is quiet normal. It is a way to make social ties quickly for the newly kindled. It should settle in a few decaorns whether or not you act on it, though I do recommend experimenting with Inferno at least. It is best to experience interfacing and overload with your Imprinter. It can be a very distressing at first."

Red Alert took in the information, internally confused as to why he would want to form social ties quickly with mechs who were potentially not trustworthy. Though he could see having such ties to them, whatever interfacing entailed, as a means of determining more about them.

He looked up at the tall mech standing behind him and they activated all over again.

"Alright, need you to open up now, kid. I have to take a look at that brand new spark of yours." Ratchet spoke in a kind tone and the hands on his shoulders gave an encouraging squeeze.

He found the control the unlocked his chestplates and then slid them back, staring down as he did so in order to see his spark for the first time. The brilliant, pure white glow reflected off everything in front of him, casting shadows and making things shine in unexpected ways.

Red Alert simply stared at the bright white star in his chest, surrounded by a multi-faceted crystal chamber harder than any alloy, metal, or stone.

For a moment, all of the paranoia, anxiety and fear melted away in the face of his first experience of beauty.

His spark was beautiful.

And familiar. He could feel that it was _him_ more than the coding he could not analyze or change and the sensors that were making it difficult to focus on the words of those around him. At that moment, he went fully within, deeper than protocols, armor, sensors or protoform.

"Do they all look the same?" He whispered. "Are they all so beautiful?"

Inferno and Ratchet's optics met. It was as though a different mech were speaking.

"They all look similar," Inferno spoke with a broad, pleased smile. "They are all very beautiful. So very beautiful. You are very beautiful, Red."

Red Alert looked up at him with a shy smile, and then reached to touch his chamber, his intakes gasping at the exquisite sensation the touch brought.

"I want to see them. Can I see your sparks?" he asked with all of the innocence of a newly kindled.

"I'm sure you can see your imprinter's spark later," Ratchet said in an impatient tone that was contradicted by his grin. "For now, I need you to stop touching your chamber so I can examine it.

"I'll show you mine in our quarters," Inferno promised sincerely and with no small amount of eagerness. "We can examine and touch all you want there."

"Okay," Red Alert nodded and reluctantly removed his hand from his spark chamber.

"Just for reference, that's not a question to ask anyone in public," Ratchet check to make sure the pulsing white sphere of energy was settled and centered in it's chamber and there were no contradictory energy fields. "Most are very protective of their spark and who sees them."

Red Alert quickly filed away that data, comparing it to his own instinctive need to protect his spark earlier. Yet finally seeing what he was so desperate to protect had shifted everything, refocusing his hyper-tuned sensors inwards.

Ratchet gave a pleased hum. "Signal your chamber to open, please."

Red quickly found the subroutine and watched as his sparkchamber moved up and forward while spiraling open, aware even without his optics that Inferno was staring.

Ratchet took a few readings and then asked him to close it.

"I'm going to open it manually now, just to make sure the manual release is working correctly in case I need to access your spark in an emergency."

He reached behind Red Alert's chamber touched some sort of release mechanism, and it spiraled open again.

"That is working properly," the CMO said with a bemused look. "Now you two get some energon. You'll need to recharge within a few joor."

"Thank you, sir," Red Alert said quietly, resealing his brand new red and white chestplates and sliding off the berth, unconsciously moving within Inferno's steady, calm field.

"We'll be back at first watch," Inferno nodded to Ratchet with a smile and wrapped his arm around Red Alert's shoulders, his field and chassis radiating approval and wrapping his charge in an EM blanket of it. "Come on, Red. I'll show you where the energon is."

The physical intimacy eased Red Alert's anxiety as they made the walk to the dispenser. While he still kept his sensors at heightened alert and scanned constantly for potential threats, he did not look at the mechs they passed along the way with quite the suspicion he had after first waking. Many of his sensors were turned on the mech walking next to him, talking amicably and greeting those they passed.

Cubes in hand, they reached the door of the quarters they had been assigned before their transport back to Iacon. It was one room, appropriately sized for a mech Inferno's size. It was little more than a large and small berth, a desk and chair with a terminal, and a couch sized for the larger of the two of them.

He took a careful step in, suddenly unsure of himself, taking his first sip of energon to cover his discomfort.

"It's okay, Red," Inferno's engine rumbled at a soothing frequency as his hand stroked the smaller mech's backsrtut. "We'll only be here until first watch, but go ahead and examine it so you're comfortable."

"The room is secure," he said quietly, "or at least as secure as anything is here. I know I won't be recharging alone," he stopped speaking for a moment. "I'm just unsure of what I ... we do now. I don't even really know who I am beyond my purpose and functions."

The words came out in a rush of honesty.

Inferno rubbed his backstrut again. "Come sit on the couch, we'll drink our energon and talk. Learning who you are beyond your function is a process of discovery that will take many vorns. It should be enjoyable, for the most part. I'll be there for you even after my official duties are over."

Red's systems purred in gratitude at the affection and words as he sat next to his imprinter, looking up at the mech whose frame spoke equal parts strength and gentleness.

"Were you ... kindled like me? As an adult?" Red Alert unconsciously placed his hand above his spark.

Inferno shook his head, his free hand never leaving contact with his charge. "I was kindled a sparkling, though I was given extensive pre-programming to be search and rescue like my creators. Like you, I've never doubted what I was intended to be. It just took me nearly four hundred vorns to finish my upgrading and training to take my place in the service. You're lucky that way. As long as it will seem, you'll be able to perform your function very soon."

"And why do you desire to be an imprinter when your coded function is search and rescue?" The small red and white mech had thousands of questions, yet the ones that he kept settling on were those about Inferno, who unlike his designation, was more like the coolant that kept his systems from running too hot and becoming damaged.

That warm smile, pleased and understanding, only spread at the question.

"The true core code of search and rescue is the desire to help others. We share a fair amount of coding and training with medics because we're first responders. We usually get there well before anyone else and have the armor to get in an get to mechanisms that can't wait for help," Inferno continued to stroke Red Alert's plating. "But I also adore sparklings. I want ones of my own, but I haven't found anyone I want to bond with, and the war kinda put the kibosh on all that anyway. So I do the next closest thing. I help those who don't have creators to care for them adapt to this strange world and body they find themselves in. It feels good to help others."

The newly sparked mech continued to drink in the physical contact as greedily as he did his energon now that he felt the affect it was having on his systems. He had no idea what it was like to be a sparkling with a creator, but he knew it felt _good_ and _safe_ to be close to this giant mech.

"How ... do I go about adapting? How do you help me do that? I could hardly process anything beyond my function except when you touched me, and when I looked at my spark."

"A lot of that will come with experience. It's a big part of why you can't go right into your job. For some, it's never easy. Prowl's a good example of a mech that never has adapted to being something other than his function, but if you ever want the insight of a preprogrammed mech with the same level of specialized upgrades that you have he's a good one to seek out." Inferno said gently. "The best way to adapt is to experience new things and what ornly functioning is like; to be exposed to what can be frightening at first so you can become accustomed to it. I'll be right there with you so even if it is distressing or frightening you don't need to be afraid."

Inferno paused thoughtfully. "Would you do me a favor?"

"Of course," the smaller mech said, once again with the trust of a newly sparked that was not at all innate to him, but brought out by the mech beside him.

"While we're in our quarters, lower your sensor impute to 15%," Inferno said gently. "In here, there is no duty but to each other. You have no need to worry or think about what is beyond the wall."

A brief panic passed over the minibot's features. He'd kept 75% of his processing power devoted to the data his sensors were bringing him. He had plenty of processing power to be fully attentive to the mech beside him while still performing part of his function.

But he wanted to comply with Inferno, to please him, and if he were honest, his spark agreed with Inferno's request even if his coding did not.

He reflexively scanned the room deeply and extended his senses as far as they would reach, beyond the boundaries of the base. He could identify the mechanical sounds and spark signatures of all 297 mechs at the secret Allspark compound, and the only ones outside of it within his range were obviously on patrol.

Finally he nodded, going to 15%. He felt smothered in silence, so he focused on the two spark signatures he could now read and the two systems he could hear, his own, and that of Inferno's. His sensors clung to the sounds of the mech beside him as they would to a life line.

Inferno was safety and Inferno would keep him safe.

The giant leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his forehelm. "I know it's distressing right now, but it will be critical for your health, and thus your ability to perform your function, to have time off. It will become less distressing the more you keep to the pattern and turn your sensors down when off duty."

The newly sparked mech leaned into the affection in agreement, and felt the EM field of his companion settle closely around him, soothing away the panic at being suddenly blind and deaf to his coded responsibilities. His brand new frame already had such tension built up in it simply from the level of functioning he had been performing even as he took in this overwhelming, brand new existence. With a quick intake of the gasses that made up Cybertron's atmosphere, he physically tried to lean further into the that soothing field, for anything that would slow down his processors and relax the tension of his joints and the charge racing through his systems that he had not even been aware was there.

"Here, sit in my lap and I'll help with the tension," Inferno encouraged, helping Red Alert move without ever forcing him to. When the smaller mech was straddling his legs, Inferno nudged him to lean forward, resting his chestplates against his own, and began a systematic stroking of plates and wires to relax Red Alert. It would also bring the small mech pleasure, something that would help with the extra charge when he overloaded. He worked his field, weaving it into his charge's so he could feel what was wrong and what worked best. There were basics that worked for everyone, but even at this age most mechs had quirks about what they liked best.

"Oh!" the small mech gasped in surprise as the first shiver of pleasure ran through his frame, easing away the tension around his shoulder joints and sensor winglets. He could feel the thrum of Inferno's spark through his own chestplates and pushed himself closer, his interface protocols coming online once again. This time he did no turn them off as he continued to let out little gasps and quite moans of purely sensual pleasure.

"I didn't realize touch could feel this good," he said softly, wrapping his arms around his inprinter's back and tentatively stroking in response.

"This good and far better," Inferno rumbled, his field feeding his approval and pleasure to the new mech under his care. "I will teach you about this too," he promised, focusing on the sensor-rich winglets, then sliding his large hands up to stroke the delicate sensory horns. "I will enjoy it too. You are such a lovely, responsive mech."

The newly kindled adult let out a cry as his sensor-laden surfaces were touched by kind, expert hands. He could feel himself lighting up, each sensor sending data deep into his protoform, simultaneously enticing and relaxing him from the inside out.

He knew he wanted more, and delved into his interface files to find out what, only to find they were largely blank, things he was meant to discover and learn through doing.

"Please," he whimpered, unsure what he was asking for, but asking nonetheless.

"You never need to beg for me to give you what you want," Inferno rumbled, gently pressing his EM field deep into the smaller mech, completely surrounding Red Alert in himself. "You feel so good to pleasure. Let me spike you?"

"Yes," he moaned as much to the field delving deep into his core as to the question. He was not even sure what Inferno meant, did not care to divert any attention to search his datafiles. He just wanted to be in there in the moment with this kind, giving giant, trusting that whatever Inferno intended to do would feel good.

Red Alert felt himself shifted back slightly, then a click and whoosh of a panel retracting.

"Find the control, open your interface panel," Inferno encouraged as his spike extended and pressurized between them.

He simply followed the throbbing sensation between his legs to the correct control, and felt his panel slide back, exposing a wet part of himself to the chill of the air while the hard red cylindrical interface, practically swimming with sensors, rubbed against Inferno's own.

"Oh yeah," Inferno shuddered. He lifted Red Alert up, supporting his aft and legs, and gently lowered him down. His spike found the slick, twitching valve opening with an ease that surprised him, even knowing Jazz had added things to his programming to make it that much easier to be with this lovely new mech. "Focus on what it feels like when I slide inside you," he tried to keep his voice level against the pleasure of such incredible tightness. "Try to work out if you _like_ it."

The minibot's only response was small, hiccuping whimpers and moans, his intakes heaving as he focused his powerful processors on the overwhelming firing of sensors deep between his legs as Inferno slid inside of him.

Following the instincts of his core code, he began to rock up and down even as he whimpered in need for more.

"Oh Primus," Inferno gasped, his own hips rocking in response even before he'd fully seated himself inside the adorably sexy being in his lap. He nearly forgot his hands as his helm fell back in the rush of sensations. "Oh, Red, ya feel _so_ good."

Red tried to respond, but his vocal processors shorted out in a static keen. It was so much ... too much. He almost pulled himself off of the spike that was sending a fire of pleasure deep into the core of him, but instead clung to Inferno's armor, his newly made fingers sliding under the plating for purchase as desperately pushed himself down onto the spike and felt it hit the deepest of his touch sensors.

His only coherent thought was that he had turned _all_ of his sensors down to 15%, and even then, the pleasure of the friction between them felt like it could extinguish him.

They drew apart, the slide of lubricated metal against metal over the sensor-dense space causing both to shudder.

"Don't resist the charge, Red," Inferno struggled to speak over the pleasure building in his systems. One hand stroked Red Alert's back while the other supported him in the rhythm. "Overloads can be scary, but nothin' is gonna hurt you. I'll never hurt ya."

The new mech nodded in desperate agreement, staring up into Inferno's optics to keep himself from falling over the precipice of pleasure into fear. The look of utter trust in his face just before he erupted into his first climactic surge of overloading circuits was enough to make Inferno's spark stutter.

Only the protocols of an imprinter kept Inferno from loosing control right then. But he willing followed their demands that he be aware of everything happening to his charge, be there and ready to calm and reassure if the intensity of the first overload turned to panic or distress. He adored this high-strung, gentle being in his lap so completely it made his spark ache.

When Red Alert's systems reset, he was collapsed against Inferno's chest, his frame still trembling from the aftershocks of overload, yet every ounce of tension gone. He could feel the large spike still inside him, and he never wanted it to move again.

Something in the large mech's field triggered concern in the small mech. "You aren't ... complete. You haven't finished. Please, Inferno, I want you to feel good."

A deep rev of the powerful engine was the first response. "I wanted to be coherent for you if you cycled up distressed," Inferno murmured, leaning down to kiss Red Alert as he began to roll his hips once more. A deep shudder passed through his frame with the moan of ecstasy. He wouldn't be long.

Red Alert moaned into the rescue mech's mouth, as intoxicated by the first taste of another mech's glossa as by the continued thrusting of the thick spike into his body. There was no question of extending his sensors anywhere other than the taste, sounds, feel and spark signature of the mech he clung to.

"Please ... oh harder, please," the new mech begged as he broke the kiss.

Inferno shuddered, his fans whining as they struggled to cool his core, and complied. Both large hands went to Red Alert's hips to hold him steady as Inferno thrust as hard and fast as he could. It was only a handful of rocking thrusts before he threw his head back with a bellow and pulled Red Alert tightly against his hips, sinking his spike as deeply into the smaller mech as possible as he overloaded and transfluid rushed into Red Alert's valve.

The newly kindled mech cried out again as a second charge raced through his systems, tipping him over the edge as he called out Inferno's name like a prayer.

When Red Alert cycled on next, he was being held, stroked gently, and laying on his side with a large, warm mass behind him. Optics powered up to a view of his quarters that he quickly placed as from the larger berth. The EM field tangled with his was Inferno's.

He resisting his coding's call to scan his environment and extend his sensors past the walls of the room, feeling safe, so safe surrounded by Inferno's body and field.

He turned around so he could face the larger mech, kissing him shyly, unsure what to say. He tried to identify the feeling that seemed to flow form his spark into his emotional processors, and came up with a name.

"Gratitude," he whispered, shuttering his optics.

"Mmm?" Inferno looked at him curiously after returning the kiss and hugging Red Alert closer. "Gratitude for what, Red?"

"Emotions aren't just in my processors," he softly tried to explain his realization. "I felt, I _feel_ something in my spark, and I searched my emotional protocols for what it's called. I'm grateful to have been kindled, to have this frame, to have you to teach me and make me feel safe. I know what I'm for, and that I have to be anxious and paranoid to do well at it. I _want_ to do well. I'm grateful to have been kindled with a purpose. But they didn't have to give me this frame that could feel so much pleasure. They didn't have to give me coding that would respond to you so there was one person I would feel safe around as I adjust. You didn't have to be my imprinter ... or maybe you did, but I'm grateful you are."

"I was asked to be, but no one ordered me," Inferno smiled warmly and stroked the lovely being in his arms. "I'm grateful too, that you're strong enough to accept what you are and my comfort. As difficult as some orns will be, those who designed and ordered your creation do care about you beyond your ability to function. They want you to be happy. I want you to be happy."

"I want to make _you_ happy, and proud," Red Alert offered timidly, clearly enamored by the large, nurturing mech.

"You have, and I know you will," Inferno said with all the certainty of his nature as he continued to stroke the small mech. "Would you still like to see my spark?"

The question was met with a breathless "yes" and wide optics. The small mech softly traced the seam between Inferno's wide chestplates.

Inferno smiled and shifted so his chests could part easily before sending the command for them to open and bring his spark chamber forward. Though a familiar sight to him, Inferno knew the sight of his much larger than average pale orange spark was a shock to most of his charges at first.

The slender mech had nothing by which to compare it, other than his own. Without hesitation, he opened his own plates, unaware of the eroticism of the action, looking at his own, feeling it respond to the proximity of another spark, flaring brighter, tendrils of light from its corona brushing against his casing.

"Do the colors mean anything?" He asked softly, unconsciously reaching tentatively toward Inferno's casing before he realized what he was doing and pulled back his hand.

"You may touch, though it's good to be sure first," Inferno said gently. "As far as I know, the colors don't mean anything. It seems to be fairly random except for the Prime and preprogrammeds like you are. Prime's is a rainbow, and all preprogrammed mechs have a white spark. Some sparks have two or even three colors."

Red Alert took in the information for later investigation. For now, he was drawn to the spark before him in a way he could not resist. He reached out and ran a single slender finger along Inferno's casing, his optics brightening as the large spark pulsed in response, a tendril following his finger's path. The ragged, heady moan as Inferno stiffened also gave him pause, even if there was no way to take the reaction as anything less than pleasure.

"Oh Primus that feels good," Inferno encouraged him.

The reaction earned a delighted grin from the newly sparked mech, who continued to explore the large, multi-faceted casing and the wires and tubing around it with gentle touches, his eyes following the movements of the spark within with an expression of wonder.

A sensation made him shiver with pleasured need and he glanced down at its source - a multitude of bright white tendrils of energy straining against his spark casing.

"Your spark wants to touch mine, wants to merge," Inferno said with a voice strained with controlling his pleasure. "It's the most intimate touch for our kind. At its deepest, a spark merge can reveal everything to the other. At the most shallow, only the physical sensations and surface thoughts are transmitted."

The inherent vulnerability and danger of such an act made Red Alert pause in his actions. He kept his hand on the large mech's casing as he examined all of the data on the perils of the act, but could not find it in himself to fear _anything_ about Inferno.

"Do you ever merge with those you guide?" he asked, resuming his gentle exploration of Inferno's casing. He could not find objections in his own processors to anything that involved sharing pleasure with the large, kind mech.

"Yes," Inferno's voice rippled with static. "Many find it helps them understand on an intuitive level what they were not programmed with. If you want, I would enjoy sharing myself with you."

The bright pulsing flare of the white spark was even more of an answer than Red Alert's words.

"I want that ... I want that so much, Inferno. Please show me how."

The giant nodded, his hands and arms curling protectively around Red Alert. "Open your spark chamber. Then ease closer until you feel the connection as they reach for each other."

The small mech found the subroutine that allowed his chamber to spiral open, watching as Inferno's did the same like some sort of crystal dance. His spark seemed to pull his shaking frame along on its own as he eased himself closer, watching in awe as tendrils of light unwound from his spark to reach beyond the edges of his chest plates. His entire awareness seemed to compress to his throbbing center, as though his frame were suddenly simply a container for what was truly himself.

The first thing that he became aware of when he saw a soft orange strand of light meet a white strand from his spark was a jolt of pleasure that didn't originate in his frame. Then a moan from Inferno as the larger mech shuddered and struggled to hold still, to allow this to proceed at Red Alert's pace.

He inched himself closer, pleasure burning so hot it could easily become pain. A moan escaped as he felt the first touch of an alien presence deep inside himself, a brush of tenderness so sweet his spark nearly overloaded at its first taste of his imprinter.

~Oh _Red_,~ Inferno's voice echoed only in his processors, the giant's vocalizer reduced to moans of pleasure as intense as anything Red Alert was feeling. ~So beautiful. So calm.~

Through the wisdom of the vastly more experienced mech, he could see what Inferno saw - a spark completely at odds with the high strung coding that was his function, a pool of calm, innocent wonder, and selfless care within a frame designed to make him paranoid and fearful.

And Red Alert accepted it, completely, knowing at a spark-deep level that only a spark such as his own could handle the pain his coding and function would bring.

Seeing himself, his spark, through Inferno's own was enough to plummet him into his first spark overload, gleefully pulling Inferno with him, knowing they had barely touched the surface.


End file.
